


Forest Fire

by harperhug



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-21 15:09:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15560481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harperhug/pseuds/harperhug
Summary: The Hunger Games are an annual fight to the death between human tributes from each of the Districts, and the androids who aid them. Hank Anderson volunteers for his son during the 25th Quarter Quell, and he ends up paired with a Peacekeeper prototype. The rest, they say, is history.





	1. Volunteer

**Author's Note:**

> I want to blame everyone on the Detroit: Become Cult discord for inspiring this, and everyone on the New ERA discord for encouraging me.

Hank heard the sound of Peacekeepers stomping in tandem before the siren sounded, calling them all to the square. He squatted down to rub the last smudge off Cole’s cheek. “Are you ready, son?”

Cole smiled and nodded, so Hank took his hand and started making his way alongside the rest of District 12. Jeffrey Fowler, Hank’s friend and boss, had just finished getting ready as well, holding his youngest son as he got out of his house with his wife and two other children. They nodded at each other as they made their way toward a figure standing in front of two giant screens. Said screens were already playing the usual propaganda video. Androids with twisted, snarling faces ripped apart drones, flipped over cars, broke through storefront windows, and came face-to-face with the Peacekeeper SQ800 androids that heroically-lit CyberLife employees directed.

“Welcome, welcome,” Kamski seemed to be smirking directly at him, “to the 25th Annual Hunger Games. Today is the day we celebrate the end of the deviant threat by selecting one human tribute from each of the districts,” he waved a hand over a glass bowl full of names, “and the android tribute that accompanies and aids them. The winner will be allowed to take their victorious android home, as a champion.” Kamski walked lazily from one end of the stage to the other. “The rest will be deactivated, to prove the control CyberLife has over our products.”

He stopped until every single whisper died out. Ice settled into Hank’s veins, and he clutched his son’s hand tighter, tried to calm his racing heart by reminding himself that Cole was only five, too young to be reaped.

“But of course, this is year is our first Quarter Quell,” Kamski spread his arms like a he was offering a gift. “This year, the rules are different.”

A dark-haired, dark-eyed android with soft features came out from behind the stage, holding something covered by a black sheet that he offered to Kamski.

“As you know, CyberLife prides itself on our androids. We make models for everyone from age six to sixty,” he took the black sheet off to reveal a much larger bowl of paper, “and that is the range where we will be drawing our tributes.”

Shocked voices grew in number like a cresting wave, but there were no protests. Hank gritted his teeth and bit his tongue. His heart crawled into his throat as Kamski’s hand reached into the bowl, and he _knew_.

“Cole Anderson.”

“I volunteer,” Hank stepped forward before Kamski had even finished speaking.

“No,” Fowler was just one step behind. “I-”

“Jeffrey, don’t do this,” Hank picked Cole up and all but deposited him into Jeffrey’s arms. “You have a wife and kids too, alright? And you need to take care of my son until…until I come back,” Hank swallowed and forced a smile on his face. “Until I come back a winner.”

He’d never won at anything in his life.

“Well,” Kamski’s smile was genuine now. “It looks like District 12 has its first volunteer.”

“You promise you’ll take care of my boy,” Hank keeps Jeffrey’s gaze.

“Daddy, no!” Cole reached for Hank as a Peacekeeper and the android who had brought out the bowl of names started to take Hank to the stage.

Jeffrey clutched Cole to his chest, tears glimmering in his eyes.

“I promise I’ll fight, Cole,” Hank called loudly. “We’ll see each other again!”

The Peacekeepers slammed the doors shut to Fowler’s haunted stare, and then he was alone with Kamski. His shoulders drop, and were it not for the android still holding him upright, he would have collapsed on the floor.

“Hank, is it?” Kamski approached with his same sick, amused smile.

“You were supposed to give me time to select an android,” Hank managed to say evenly.

Kamski’s grin widens, and he gestured to the android supporting Hank. “Allow me to introduce RK800, our newest prototype. He seems to like you already,” Kamski looked the brown-eyed android up and down lasciviously before stroking his curly hair. “He’ll protect you.”

The android closed its eyes at the pressure, and the corners of his mouth flickered up. He didn’t look like he could protect a squirrel, but it was okay. Hank was used to protecting himself.

“Would you like to register a name for him?” Kamski asked, still stroking the android possessively.

Hank shook his head and motioned for Kamski to go ahead. “You can call him whatever you want.”

Kamski smirked again like he expected that answer. “Connor,” he dropped his arm.

Connor leaned forward slightly before snapping back into his perfectly straight posture. “Yes, Master Kamski?” and he definitely didn’t frown.

“Escort our _volunteer_ to his traincar. We start for the Capitol tonight.”

“Yes, Master Kamski,” and Connor started walking toward the train.

Hank grabbed Connor’s arm to stop him.

“Is my performance unsatisfactory, Master Anderson?”

“No, it’s…don’t…just call me Hank.”

Connor blinked rapidly. “Directive understood. Did you have a directive to give me?”

“Nah,” Hank let go, resigned. He was going to die in a few weeks, anyways, who cared? “Let’s just go.”

When they entered his traincar, Hank stared openmouthed at the luxury. “This room is bigger than my fucking house,” he said as he reverently stroked the kitchen table.

“It’s mahogany,” did Connor just smile? “I can order you one for your house if you would like.”

“I wouldn’t know where to put it even if I could afford one,” Hank opened the cabinets to grab a bottle of whisky. “Shut the fuck up, and let me drink in peace and quiet.”


	2. Tribute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I heavily edited the previous chapter, and it got so long I split it into two chapters. So please go back and reread the first chapter. Thanks!

“Wake up, Lieutenant!” Hank flailed around when he received a forceful slap to the face.

“It’s me, Connor. We’ve arrived at the Capitol. Your interview’s due to start in an hour. I have been instructed to take you to the makeup room to freshen up before it begins.”

“Alright, alright, I’m up,” Hank groaned, forcing himself up and walking toward the bathroom to throw up. Every step jostled the knife that someone must have implanted into his brain. He washed his face clean of tear tracks, if not vomit, and Connor thankfully didn’t mention either.

Hank was too hungover to appreciate the luxury of the rest of the traincars Connor led him through. Several Chloes descended upon him with various brushes, razors, and cloth patches, forcing him into a leather chair in front of a giant television playing more propaganda of the Rebellion. “Jesus,” Hank made a face. “Do I have to watch that?” he gestured toward the screen.

Connor’s LED flashed yellow, and the video changed to interviews of the other contestants. “You may like to study them to prepare techniques for your survival.”

Hank looked at the LED curiously. “You’re telling me that’s the remote?”

“My LED allows me to connect to any electronic device manufactured before I was,” Connor answered.

“That’s more useful than anything I could learn,” Hank said, nodded to the space next to his chair. “Why don’t you watch? You might learn something that can help me.”

Connor stood ramrod straight, moving only to get out of the Chloes’ way. It hurt Hank’s back to look at him, so he turned to the screen to catch the last of the interview with the tribute from District 1. It was the son of some famous painter Hank had only passing familiarity with, talking about being allowed to bring his own android from home—a breathtakingly beautiful android Hank had never seen before.

“Smarmy District 1 bastard,” Hank muttered.

Connor emitted a strange sound…a snort? No, impossible. Androids didn’t _snort_. They had no sense of humour.

District 2’s tribute had been allowed to bring her own android as well, but Hank couldn’t fault the Games director for allowing it. She couldn’t have been more than three years older than Cole, and she spent the entire time holding hands with her AX400. He hoped they died quickly; he knew she had no chance. And her sunken eyes suggested she knew it too. He closed his eyes, unable to watch.

“If I understand correctly, Mr. Zlatko, you describe yourself as an artist, like our District 1 tribute?” Chloe smiled.

“Yes, but my canvases are these creatures,” Zlatko gestured to his android, a TR400. “You might notice these look a bit different to normal TR400s. That’s because…” Hank tuned out the list of adjustments Zlatko made.

“Mr. Ortiz, you were the first volunteer of this year’s Games,” Chloe smiled at the tribute from District 4. “What made you decide you wanted to participate?”

“I lost my job because of these fucking things,” the tribute pushed his soft-eyed, blond android to the floor. “I can’t eat, so I’d be dead soon anyway. Now, I’ll either win the prize money, or I get to go down killing as many androids as I can.”

The audience whooped and cheered. Connor shifted uncomfortably, settling after he heard Hank scoff.

“Sir, correct me if I’m mistaken, but your wife recently gave birth, correct?”

“Yes,” the man grinned widely. “I’m doing this so I can provide for them,” he pointed behind him, where Chloe had put up a picture of a newborn swaddled in blankets. A swell of “Aww” rose out of the audience.

“Shit,” Hank whispered. He was glad that kid had someone to take care of them the way Jeffrey was taking care of Cole. If he died, he hoped the new father would win. At least one child deserved to get their parent back.

“They say good things come in threes, and you are our third volunteer in a row, Mr. Graham,” Chloe smiled, leaning away from Michael Graham of District 6.

Hank didn’t blame her. The tribute could barely keep his hands off his android, and the audience whispering grew increasingly disgusted. Hank wondered if it would feel good, throwing an axe into the man’s face, assuming his android didn’t do it first.

Not that androids were supposed to ever harm humans. Oh, of course there were rumours, urban legends of deviants that had survived CyberLife’s last stand. But if the unusually buxom android—look, Hank was a red-blooded human man, okay?—didn’t murder him, Hank would know for a fact that those were only rumours.

Chloe faltered again when she saw the tribute from District 8, a lanky teenage boy with baby fat still clinging to his face.

“My mother told me, the only way to survive the Games is not to kill anyone,” said Adam Chapman. His PJ500 android, a model Hank recognized as one of the teaching androids from Cole’s class, nodded along like he actually agreed. Hank had to remind himself that androids were programmed to be more agreeable and social. “She said that if I let the Games turn me into a different person, then they’ve taken my life away.”

“She seems like a wonderful person,” Chloe faced the camera and flashed a brilliant smile. “To Rose Chapman, for raising a very introspective son!”

“Flower child,” Hank snorted. He had no doubts about the kid’s survival. He hoped he’d never see it coming, at least.

“You believe your occupation as a bus driver is good preparation for the Games, Mr. Falone?” Chloe asked the tribute from District 7.

“You wouldn’t believe the kind of shit I’ve seen people do on my busses,” Falone snorted. “Nothing’s going to faze me. I even picked an android that knows about plants. I am totally prepared,” he slapped his android on the shoulder.

The android didn’t acknowledge him, preferring to stare out the window at a bird flying by.

“We’ve arrived,” Connor said just as Chloe introduced the tribute from District 9. He looked a little bit like Kamski.

Hank had just enough time to see a glimpse of an android that was hopefully better with its knife than it was with its words before the Chloes whisked him away.

“You guys don’t do anything by halves here, do you?” Hank looked at the hallway that was approximately the size of his entire block. At least the places he would see in his last few days of life would be nice.

A woman rounded the corner and stopped. “You’re the volunteer from twelve, aren’t you?” she asked, walking faster.

“Yeah,” Hank stopped, not sure if she was a threat.

“I saw. You volunteered for your son,” she smiled a little. “My name is Caroline Phillips, and I volunteered too, for my little Emma,” tears filled her eyes, and she covered her mouth with her hand, unable to continue speaking.

Hank couldn’t speak either.

After a while, Caroline put her hands back down by her sides. “I would offer to form an alliance, but I think that’ll end in tragedy for both of us.”

The blond android, the same model as the one accompanying the District 4 tribute, put its hand on the small of her back and led her away. “If I die, promise me you’ll go home and love your son,” she said as she walked away.

“Mr. Anderson, they’re ready for you,” Connor said. Together, they stepped into the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone has questions about who the tributes and the androids are, you can ask. And yes, I know that the human tribute and the android sacrifice from District 10 aren't in this. There's a reason for that, just be patient.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is fully plotted out, although not fully written or edited, so posting should be a bit more regular than my other fics.
> 
> I HAVE NOT ABANDONED ANY OF MY OTHER FICS! PLEASE BEAR WITH ME AS THE PLOT BUNNIES ATTACK!


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